


da mi basia mille, deinde centum, dein mille altera, dein secunda centum

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Kissing, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Series, Woman on Top, am i going heavy on the songs metaphors? most likely, coronavirus quarantine fic strikes again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23218627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: None of them ever came close to how it feels to have Sandor lying beneath her, wearing nothing, raven hair spread on their soft, soft pillows, naked chest with all that muscle spread under her fingers to touch, his cock hard for her from the moment she touches it lightly to get him going, gray eyes open and staring up into hers adoringly in a way that almost makes her faint every single time he looks at her like he can’t believe they married each other, like he can’t believe what she sees in him, and she hopes that stops one day, but — they have time now. They have all the time, and now she knows that she’d rather have him like this than the contrary, and so she leans down, hand going to the scarred side of his face, holding it still as she leans down and kisses him again and again and again, her tongue running over the scarred side of his mouth after she leans back, and then she reaches down and starts jerking him off slowly while dropping more soft, feathery kisses over his scarred cheek.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 23
Kudos: 126





	da mi basia mille, deinde centum, dein mille altera, dein secunda centum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starlightvelaris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightvelaris/gifts).



> AAAND for the coronavirus quarantine shitposting parade, have some sansan that I wrote for a prompt from the lovely person I'm gifting this to and a writing challenge where you had to use Latin titles; the prompt was _SanSan in which Sansa lovingly tops Sandor, post-ados_ , so that's... exactly what it says on the tin ;), while the title is from Catullus's carmen 5 which means _give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then another thousand, then a second hundred_ , and like... have the mindless porn for the evening I'll saunter back downstairs u_u

Years ago, she wouldn’t have conceived of having him like _this_.

Years ago, Sansa had fantasized about her beautiful, strong, gentle and brave knight sweeping her off her feet and kissing her first, and then she had imagined that during her wedding night he would take her gently and surely and make her see stars, because after all that was what songs said. In the songs, it was the knight taking the lady, with honor and kindness, of course, and she had felt thrilled at the idea, in the beginning.

And then, even when she had thought of _him_ taking her during the wedding night she never got to have, it was _him_ coming to her bed, it was _him_ on top of her, it was _him_ taking his kiss and his song and making her trill in pleasure.

She hadn’t considered any other option —

Until _she_ ended up taking that kiss from him and not the contrary.

After all, it had been necessary — Sandor didn’t seem to believe her for a second when she said she _wanted_ it, and his sureness that he never actually did kiss her during the battle of Blackwater was too strong for her to push any further and who knows, he was drunk but she might have remembered wrong, and so she had asked him to take it and he _wouldn’t_ —

And so she had, leaning down and pressing her mouth against his, feeling the scarring on the left half of it, and he had froze before tentatively, _tentatively_ kissing her back and —

That felt _good_.

Sansa had never considered it, but _taking_ that kiss, having him respond to _her_ , with a rough sigh that had shaken her to the core, his hands tentatively touching her hips, it had made her feel… strong, assured, _in control_ , and the fact that when she moved away Sandor had looked at her like he still couldn’t quite believe it —

Gods.

They never did anything past kissing before — _before_. Because he said he wouldn’t when he could have died fighting the dead every other moment and she deserved better, and maybe she wanted to just get adjusted to be with someone she _wanted_ and who didn’t seem to care a whim for her inheritance or her name.

Then _he_ took her cloak, and Sansa will forever be grateful to Brienne of Tarth for having been the first woman in known Westerosi history to have _her_ man take _her_ cloak therefore opening the door for all the others, and their wedding night —

Hadn’t been what Sansa had pictured.

It had been _better_ , and now that they’ve had practice at it — or better, that _she_ had —

Oh, none of the stories Myranda Royce used to whisper holds a candle to _this_.

None of them ever came close to how it feels to have Sandor lying beneath her, wearing nothing, raven hair spread on their soft, soft pillows, naked chest with all that muscle spread under her fingers to touch, his cock hard for her from the moment she touches it lightly to get him going, gray eyes open and staring up into hers adoringly in a way that almost makes her faint every single time he looks at her like he can’t believe they married each other, like he can’t believe what she sees in him, and she hopes _that_ stops one day, but — they have time now. They have _all_ the time, and now she knows that she’d rather have him like _this_ than the contrary, and so she leans down, hand going to the scarred side of his face, holding it still as she leans down and kisses him again and again and _again_ , her tongue running over the scarred side of his mouth after she leans back, and then she reaches down and starts jerking him off slowly while dropping more soft, feathery kisses over his scarred cheek.

And _gods_ , she loves how doing _that_ makes him go hard in a moment — she barely has to touch him to feel him harden against her fingers and moan against her neck, that low voice trembling in pleasure just for her, and she knows he wouldn’t believe her if he _told_ her that she genuinely loves kissing that burn, that she likes the feel of it under her lips and her tongue, and so she just keeps on doing it until he’s whispering her name over and over, and and then she moves back to kissing his mouth, her tongue finding his as she slows down the motions of her hand, and oh but she’s so wet between her legs it’s almost painful and so she lifts her skirts

(she likes to be _somewhat_ clothed when she does this, it’s only a simple linen white dress that she wore without a corset or anything underneath, and she sees how he stares at her breasts, and she’ll let him touch them later, _later_ )

under which she has no smallclothes, and then slides down on him, taking it slow, smiling as he moans her name even if he still sounds too quiet for her tastes, gods she wants to _hear_ him, she wants to hear him more, but — they have time for that. She rolls her hips up and down, slow, her hands grasping at his shoulders before moving a hand behind his head.

“Grab my sides,” she says, and he does at once, and _gods_ she loves how his hands are so huge they could encircle her entire waist but they’re so _gentle_ on her, and then she pulls his head upward, a hand grasping softly at his hair as she leans down and kisses him again and again and _again_ , until she’s riding him faster and he’s fucking into her at _her_ pace and he’s moaning inside her mouth and she has wholly lost count of how many kisses she gave him but that’s fine because she wants to go at it all over again, and so she does until he’s writhing in pleasure underneath her because _she_ gave it to him and she’s taking all the kisses from him that she wants, and gods but she loves it, she loves being in charge of _this_ and she loves how he lets her without even blinking and she loves that _he_ obviously loves it —

And maybe, she thinks as he comes inside her not long later, his cock buried deep inside her as she clenches around him knowing that _she_ is close as well and that when she moves her cunt to his mouth later he _will_ make her peak again, maybe once he wanted a song from her, but now _she_ is receiving song over song over song from _him_ —

And she wouldn’t want it any other way.

End


End file.
